


Rise of the Demon

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Protective Crowley, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 04:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Crowley is not an early riser... he needs his angel and a lot of coffee. Don't take any of that from him before noon.





	Rise of the Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear friend megzseattle (This story wouldn't be here without you^^).

Crowley yawns, stretches his limbs like something inhuman, and rolls lazily on his side, one arm on his eyes, the other extending blindly towards the table. His glasses are gently pressed into his hand while a familiar and oh-so-soothing voice murmurs to him “Here you are, my dear.”

“...’ks, angel” 

Aziraphale’s footsteps fade lightly towards the stairs. The demon yawns again, jaws unhinged, and rolls one more time, slipping off to the floor like a liquid human-shaped elemental and settling on the carpet. The footsteps are coming back.

“Oh, dear… do you want me to leave you alone, Crowley ? You really look like you could sleep some more.”

A hand raises near the couch to wave weakly. “Ngk. Coffee.”

“Of course.”

Fingers encounters a hot mug and snakes around it before disappearing with their prize under the coffee table, and a light creak informs Crowley that his friend has settled on his favourite armchair. An audible gulp and a satisfied growl comes from the floor. One minute later, the sound of a turning page echoes in the room.

Time stretches in companionable silence for half an hour. Then the doorbell jingles merrily.

“Oh, for God’s sake”, murmurs the angel, closing his book with a huff.

“Why did you open ?” asks the coffee table.

“I have to. It’s called working. You should try” answers Aziraphale tersely while tugging at his waistcoat to erase the creases.

“Doesn’t working usually involves selling books ?”

“Oh, do shut up.”

The demon snickers, and listen to his friend’s voice answering that of some unwelcome human. The half empty mug is carefully put on the table, and a ginger head rises, followed by the rest of Crowley’s corporation.

He would usually need at least one more hour and two refills of coffee before considering getting up, but the voice is insistent and demanding. THAT kind of clients. He can already sense Aziraphale’s natural anxiousness rising. That’s very annoying. How is he supposed to enjoy his morning routine in these conditions ? He didn’t even finished his first coffee. 

Heroically, he stands on his feet, ready to scare the hell out of the human who dared push that bloody door. He barely has made two steps towards the shop that the doorbell sings again, followed by a loud, irritated sigh. Even if he can only see his back, he can tell his friend is unsettled.

“Trouble, angel ?”

Aziraphale waves in dismissal “Some people won’t just take no for an answer.”

Crowley smiles “That’s your natural sex appeal. They all want you for themselves.”

He is gratified with a very irritated look. “A book, Crowley. You know it was about buying a book.”

“Then he’s even more stupid than I thought.”

The angel’s shoulders finally relax a little, a spark of humour lighting in his eyes.

“You old flatterer” he murmurs, cracking an almost imperceptible smile.

“Proud of it”, answers Crowley with a shark’s smile, sauntering towards the door.

“Going home already ?”

“Nope, fomenting to do, people to tempt… back for lunch, if you want.”

“Splendid. Pick me up at one o’clock. And, Crowley ?”

“Hmm ?”

“Try not to terrify him too much, will you ? I didn’t sell it to him, after all.”

The demon faces him, one eyebrow raising over the glasses. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, angel.”

“Of course you don’t. Silly me.”

“You’re the one saying it. See you, then.”

“Mind how you go, my dear.”

The bell rings once more, Crowley ignoring the Bentley to stalk his prey down the street, and the angel considers closing for a minute. No, to early. He has to take the risk to stay open at least one more hour.

A cup of tea will help.


End file.
